


Salt

by romanrogers



Series: Argonaut [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Actual plot happens!, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Game of Thrones AU, M/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8203316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanrogers/pseuds/romanrogers
Summary: “Screw you,” Matt rasps in his native tongue.Vladimir does not speak English but the message comes across clear enough. That tone of voice and phrase are universally understood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I am one of three or four people who still hardcore love this ship and I swear to god I will singlehandedly keep this ship floating if I have to.

Matt’s whiskey eyes are still as beautiful and unseeing as they were the day they had met, yet now they hold a sagaciousness that he previously lacked. His lips are red, not the shade they were when Vladimir used to kiss him, but the kind of tint that appeared when he has been biting them nervously as he always was in the habit of doing.

 

Their first night together, he had done the same. Matt had worried his lips until they were swollen and to the point of bleeding, then transferred his ministrations to his thumb just before Vladimir dragged it back down. How fitting that he be doing the exact same when they meet again.

 

Vladimir watches as Matt adjusts his wrists to the ropes tightly wound around his hands, he had to be restrained after his angered fit. He had landed a pretty good hit to Vladimir’s right cheekbone, which was beginning to swell and turn into veiny splotches of purple and yellow.

 

He probes the beaten flesh with two fingers, silently admiring the solidity of the punch. Matt had become stronger since his disappearance. It was even more noticeable upon closer inspection, his torso filled out and lightly muscled, and clothes more form fitting than how they used to be. Vladimir can remember the way Matt’s clothes used to be stylishly baggy in an almost intentional way, and the way his heart would beat faster when Matt breathed on his neck and his clothes dragging across Vladimir’s skin.

 

Matt turns his head in Vladimir’s direction, his blank eyes staring right at Vladimir.

 

“ _Just because I can not see, does not mean I cannot tell when someone is staring,”_ he growls under his breath in Russian.

 

Vladimir is floored briefly, hearing his voice being almost too much to bear. He wants to bring him in close and taste his skin again and feel the lines of his face. Swallowing thickly, Vladimir plasters on a cocky smile that Matt can’t see, filling his voice with a false vibrato, _“Can’t blame me for looking. You’re quite the view.”_

 

 _“I can blame you. And as a matter of fact, I will blame you,”_ Matt spits back vehemently.

 

Vladimir chuckles, “ _Still as dramatic as ever Matvey. You have not changed much after all.”_

 

Matt closes his eyes, breathing in deeply before replying. _“You have not the slightest clue as to how much I have changed. It is you who is still just as arrogant and insolent as the last moment we drew breath together.”_

 

Vladimir’s smile drops, and his hands itch for a blade. Not to wield on Matt, but rather to use on someone else- more accurately the nurse that showed Matt Fisk’s letter but that was of no use. She absconded not long after news of Matt’s disappearance spread.

 

_“Well that is untrue, I am those things and quite a few more. Contumelious, abrasive, rude, just to name a few.”_

 

Matt scoffs, “ _You forgot to add snake to the list.”_

 

Vladimir hums thoughtfully, “ _Yes, those are quite charming creatures, right, husband?”_

 

Something flickers across Matt’s face. It’s not rage, or annoyance but something more vulnerable. A brief moment of gentle avenoir, with a softness that Matt rarely ever showed on his face even before things between them were so strained.

 

“Screw you,” Matt rasps in his native tongue.

 

Vladimir does not speak English but the message comes across clear enough. That tone of voice and phrase are universally understood.

 

He stands, sparing one last look at Matt as he leaves the secluded tent they had both sat in. At least he was shaded from the sun so that he would not burn. He was always prone to being injured by the sun.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Matt’s demeanor was a flip flop of the same circular emotions, cycling through rage, sadness, frustration, then rage again.

 

Stick once told him that anger was a foil for a deeper emotion, one more sinister and dangerous and that if you drowned in it you were a lost cause. He told Matt that anger was more productive and to hold onto it with every fiber of his being to keep his head clear on hostile grounds.

 

Matt found that to be true in this moment in a way he had never experienced before since being in a place like the Coliseum. Stick had been wrong about many things but perhaps he held some grains of truth in his words but lacked the temperament to articulate it properly. That was wishful thinking though and Matt needed to deal with the reality currently set before him.

 

He, Foggy and Karen were now in the grasp of the Russians who were most likely planning to pawn them off to Fisk to exterminate Matt once for all. Matt remembers the last thing he saw being Wilson Fisk’s twisted grin as he poured boiling wax onto his face. It would be a sort of poetic justice that Fisk witnessed and be the cause of Matt drawing out his last breath, he pondered idly.

 

Foggy no doubt was most likely floundering in this new environment, babbling in that nervous way he does when he feels threatened, while Karen would be handling the situation with much more grace. She was always strong like that, able to compartmentalize and shield herself in a frigid layer of calm in moments of seriousness. Matt envied her for that quality, and selfishly wished it for himself.

 

He sat and brooded in guilty silence and didn’t notice the new presence in the tent until he could feel their body heat in the space beside him. Matt flinched in surprise as the smell of magnolias and death tinged the surrounding air.

 

“My, my,” a new voice crooned, “What have we here, another hostage?”

 

Matt hummed, “Try ex husband.”

 

The lady next to him laughed and it was like bells chiming in the air, seductive and utterly charming. “So it’s true then? You’re the renegade daredevil? I don’t suppose you got the divorce finalized anyways, so aren’t you technically still a married man?”

 

Matt keeps his breathing even, not letting any emotions outwardly show on his face although he can’t restrain himself from gritting his teeth.

 

“Oh!” She exclaims happily, “You look so dashing when you’re frustrated. Anger suits your face well, darling- so stoic. Why did you leave?”

 

“We’re not married in any of the ways that count,” Matt says coldly. “Why exactly do you wish to know?”

 

“My day isn’t filled with much else besides being lugged behind foul mouthed men with horses, it gets old quick and there is not much else to speculate on. So why did you?”

 

“Excuse me for being blunt, but I see no reason why I should share my life story with another hapless hostage who is a means to an end anyways. There is no reason for us to get acquainted for it will end with one or both of us dead, and at the moment considering my connection to those here, it’ll probably be you, lady,” he growls under his breath spitefully.

 

The woman leans in close dragging Matt down by the front of his shirt, “You will not speak to me in such a manner again. Do we understand each other, blind man.”

 

It was not a question. Just a simple statement of fact and Matt could not help but nod in automatic agreement. “Yes ma’am,” he answered seriously.

 

Her small laugh blows softly in a cascade of mint ghosting across his face cutting sharply through the humid air. She lets go of his shirt, patting Matt’s chest firmly twice and leaning back again.

 

“I like you, Matthew, I can rarely say that for many people.”

 

Matt blanches at the casual use of his name, biting his lip and worrying it between his teeth.

 

The woman’s voice lowers imperceptibly and she whispers in Matt’s ear coquettishly, “May I indulge myself and tell you a secret, Matthew?”

 

She says his name like it’s an intimate thing, and in a way it was. It was a way that no one had addressed him in besides his father when he was very young, and Vladimir only once. Everyone else has called him Matt, and perhaps that was foreshadowing to how close they could or would be. Matt simply nods, at a loss for words, eyes drooping.

 

“I am only here because I wish to be. The moment I decide otherwise is the same moment I will no longer allow these brutes to string me along like cattle.”

 

Her lips brush Matt’s ear as she pulls away and he briefly marvels at how such simple words could send chills down his spine. Matt believed she was capable of doing no less and had no desire to be on the receiving end of her intent.

 

“So long for now, Matthew, the dogs have no doubt noticed my absence by now. Until next time,” she chimes sunnily, cupping his stubbled face affectionately as she stands gracefully.

 

“Wait,” Matt says as she opens the tent flap.

 

She pauses, turning to Matt again.

 

“I never got your name,” he remarks.

 

There is a smile in her voice as she says, “That’s because I never gave it to you,” and for a moment, Matt thinks she won’t tell him.

 

“It’s Elektra.”

 

And just as Matt forms a response, she Is gone and the tent is vacant once more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am physically incapable of not writing at LEAST one strong female character per story I write. They are deadass one of my only weaknesses. That and male/female relationships that are not sexualized so be warned.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Vladimir misses him savagely, much like how he does everything else. He kills savagely, he speaks savagely, loves those closest to him even more so. Being so close to him, yet feeling so far as only the cloth of a tent stands between the two resonates a deep ache in his chest. It twists with the knowledge of two years worth of lost time.

 

He had missed his husband viscerally, like a missing limb. Vladimir had spent many a night the past two years dreaming of the subtle ridges of his hands, the jut of his wrist, the curve of his lips, and stillness of his eyes that were reminiscent of crystalline glass. He used to dream about the feeling of his delicate skin beneath his calloused hands, and how easily it would bruise under his grip.

 

There are scars now that plague Matt’s previously unmarred skin, making Vladimir almost physically sick. He had stared at the marks for a long time the first time he saw them, almost expecting them to vanish when he next blinks. They don’t, and it disappoints him, serving as a reminder of how long they had been separated. Of how much he doesn’t know about Matt in those long two years.

 

Gathering his bearings, Vladimir inhales deeply, clenching his fists and setting his jaw stubbornly. Matt was simply a man and Vladimir had killed things more dangerous and barely batted an eye. Also it is the next day, Matt had most likely had time to calm down. Exhaling steadily, he grabs a fistful of the tent, and pulls it open.

 

Matt’s eyes shoot open, and automatically shift towards the shuffling of the cloth. There are bags under his eyes, Vladimir notes. He must not have slept, or if he did, it must not have been until now.

 

_“Sleep well, little devil?”_

Matt scoffs, and turns his head the opposite direction. “Vladimir,” he greets dryly.

 

_“Matvey,”_ Vladimir returns in kind.

 

There is a tense silence for a few long moments until Matt pipes up again.

 

“ _Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, what are you planning to do with us? What of the others? Will you kill me off like you had originally planned? Or are you going to ship me over to Fisk so that he can finish the job?_

Vladimir grits his teeth, “ _That was never the plan- well not_ never, but-“

 

“ _So it was at one point,”_ Matt deadpans.

 

“ _Yes. No. It was…”_ Vladimir struggles to find the right way to explain. _“This isn’t going the way I had planned!”_

_“How was this supposed to go, just curious? Was the idea to butter me up with an explanation, and_ then _kill me? I though you were cleverer than that Vladimir,”_ he grunts.

_“No, of course not!”_ Vladimir shouts, frustrated.

 

Matt hums to himself, _“That’s not the message I’m getting from the tied hands and secluded tent. At least tell me that Foggy and Karen are being kept in better conditions than this.”_

_“You forget, husband, we would not have need of that had you not attacked me,”_ Vladimir splutters. _“And I had assumed you would prefer space to cool off.”_

_“Oh.”_ Matt says sarcastically _. “My bad then.”_

_“They had Anatoly,”_ Vladimir finally grits out.

 

_“…Anatoly?”_

 

_“My brother,”_ Vladimir explains.

 

“ _Who had your brother?_ ” Matt asks.

 

_“Fisk.”_

After another long minute, Matt speaks, _“And that is why you were going to…”_ He trails off.

Vladimir has never been an overly emotional man. He does not revel in the fact that he is hostage to this hollow feeling in his chest, so he did in that moment what he does best. Ignoring the issue until the last possible moment.

 

_“Never mind that,”_ he continues. _“You will not die,”_ Vladimir says resolutely.

_“We are to ride towards Dorne in the next fortnight. If I free your hands, you must save your energy until then.”_

Matt nods, in acknowledgement, then Vladimir crouches down on his knees, unsheathing the blade at his hip, and leans in unnecessarily close to cut the tie binding the other man’s hands. Matt’s breath tickles his ear, and the tips of his lips brush Vladimir’s temple. His skin craves more like an itch that can’t be satiated, but Vladimir pulls himself away nonetheless.

He swallows thickly, watching Matt rub the irritated skin on his wrists before turning away and quickly fleeing the tent that somehow felt inexplicably smaller than when he first had entered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can now take a break from my copious amounts of schoolwork and essays to write about these two emotionally constipated nerds.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so no matt/vladimir in this one but to make up for it, I'm working on a fic where one of them proposes (badly) soooooo

 

Karen cringes as the hot desert sands slap against her face. She is unused to being this deep in the sandy dunes of the hot lands that she used to reside in. The summers were harsh here, the winters even more so.

 

Karen wasn’t dumb, she knew when someone was keeping secrets and Matt Murdock was stock full of them. However, she supposes that she doesn’t exactly have a leg to stand on when it comes to keeping secrets. She had her fare share of them as well.

 

It still doesn’t stop her from being a little angry though. The rational part of Karen chimes in saying that it wasn’t exactly something Matt could have brought up organically, what would he have said? ‘My ex is kind of a cutthroat leader of the Russians who are sort of renown for the pillaging of villages and killing- you know the general stuff that most people of a civilized society _don’t_ take part in.’

 

It’s wistful thinking to imagine a scenario where Matt would actually open up to Foggy and Karen. Foggy was too trusting and never suspected anything amiss in the minimal shift in facial expression when others have asked Matt of where he came from. She knew that he was a liar, but to his credit, it wasn’t that he was a bad one, Karen was just adept in spotting issues.

 

She herself was a chaos magnet, it followed where she went. Karen supposed that maybe it was passed through genetics, after all her she was cut from the same cloth as her father. Always too inquiring, and questing for something more even when there was nothing there. Eventually her searching got her into trouble in her first home and then there was nothing left.

 

She wasn’t an orphan originally but after three paternal figures coming and passing she got along fine on her own. And then she found the small village on the outskirts of the valley and desert. Close enough to the sand that it was hot enough to ward away blood sucking bugs, and close enough to the green lands that nourishment was easy to come by and reprieve from the heat.

 

It was a great find, until now of course, but all good things come to an end and Karen must have run out of her luck currency. It was time to deal in and work with what she had, which admittedly, wasn’t much at the moment; no weapons, a hysterical friend, another absent one, and surrounded by a tribe of people who probably wouldn’t mind killing them for entertainment. Her musing is interrupted as someone roughly bumps into her.

 

“Watch it,” she snaps.

 

Their eyes meet and she stubbornly glares back at the man who had shoved her. His hair is cropped short at the sides but grown out slightly more at top where it curls wetly on his forehead from sweat. He looks- unlike the rest; something on his face, or maybe in his eyes that set him apart from everyone else around. They had a murderous glint not unlike the Russians but polished with a trained focus. It was restraint, she later realized.

 

Foggy’s hand touches hers and he apologizes to the man that Karen continues to scrutinize. She glances away towards Foggy for a moment, then shifts her gaze back but he is already gone. Shouldering his way past the other Russians in his way.

 

“Karen,” Foggy fusses. “You can’t just do that.”

 

“If they were going to off us Foggy, then they would have done it already. Or if they plan on doing it later then there’s nothing we can really do to change their minds _,_ so why just roll over and let them do as they please? We don’t have to be _pleasant,_ just obedient.”

 

“You sound exactly like Matt,” he pouts. “Either he has rubbed off on you, or you just fuel each others quest to drive me crazy.”

 

“Who’s to say, I haven’t rubbed off on him?” Karen smiles.

 

“Because he’s been like that since I met him,” Foggy grumbles, crossing his arms, “I mean what blind guy has any business wandering about _alone_ in the middle of nowhere?”

 

Karen hums to herself, _“_ Something tells me wasn’t alone in all that time. Like how he can speak fluent _Russian_ , and why they took him to a separate location.”

 

Foggy shakes his head, “Because he _punched_ one of them, the idiot! And- actually you know, I can’t defend that other thing.”

 

She sighs, “Think about it Foggy, he must have known them before us.”

 

“That’s- no. Matt would have told me.”

 

“Okay,” she says complacently. “I guess you’re right,” she lies.

 

 

 

 

The sun in the sky lowers down onto the western horizon, casting striking light and stark shadows on the orange sands. The sky fades from pink to magenta, and finally a navy blue, and Karen nestles down by Foggy who has long since settled down to sleep. Karen couldn’t quite bring herself to, too alert and unwilling to allow herself to let her guard down.

 

Further in the camp the Russians have set up, there is a fire that they circle around. Enough light reaches Karen that she can pick out the outlines of people and tents littering the area but not enough for anything definite or detailed, only shapes.

 

A dark hand appears from the shadows and grips her mouth before she can make a sound and she can feel the distinct callouses move across her lips. Karen twists her face, given enough leeway that she can bite her offenders fingers. They grunt but don’t relinquish their hold on her face.

 

Propping herself up on her elbows now, she flings one backwards hoping to hit them and lands one solid strike to the face but it is caught before she can do it a second time. Biting down harder on their fingers, she can taste blood now and clenches her jaw harder until she is a hairs breath away from bone.

 

And then there is a whisper in her ear, “Settle down, I ain’t gonna hurt ya’.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karen is small but she is angry, and will fuck you up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to painstakingly churn this out from somewhere within the endless abyss of my brain. I hope it's okay, and thank you for reading- :)

 

Vladimir's fingers twitch. He feels restless, like he should be doing something but isn't. It's persistent feeling, almost as obvious and grounding as a mutt gnawing at his arm but then again- not. He brings the nail of his thumb to his mouth to bite but finds it is already down to the nub. He sighs and his fingers twitch again.

 

They are due to head East once the sun is overhead but Vladimir can't shake the feeling of urgency that hangs over his shoulders and curdles in his lower stomach. A thought occurs to him, and suddenly it is all he can think about. He needs to check his cargo.

 

There are a few of his men on watch and he nods at them as he leaves his den. Most everyone else within his camp are sleeping still or lying indisposed by the fire. From a distance he can spot Matt with his head dipped near the outskirts of the camp. Vladimir's step falters only for a millisecond before regaining its original vigor.

 

Far away from the fire, and most the people, is one single tent smaller than the rest. It is singed at some parts, but sturdy enough to keep the wind and _flame_ out. It sways with the wind, making it look deceptively harmless and Vladimir almost scoffs.

 

Pushing aside the flap, Vladimir peers inside and his heart drops. It is not as jarring as it had been to realize that Matt was gone but it was close. Fear begins to spread through his veins, his hands becoming shaky and cold but anger comes soon after, coiling itself in his chest and throat.

 

He could feel the beginnings of a nervous sweat forming at the small of his back as he began to pace. From within the empty tent, there lay a broken set of vibranium manacles hitched to a wooden post. He releases an alarmed shout to his men in the surrounding area, leaning half out of the abandoned tent and ordering their undivided attention. A handful of them within earshot, stop and turn raptly towards him with bright eyes and attentions captured while some startle awake, hazy and barely coherent.

 

Opening the tent flap and revealing the empty space, Vladimir points with his other hand. _"It's gone,"_ he hisses.

 

There is a brief moment of almost complete silence as the men look amongst each other in vague confusion. Vladimir can feel his blood pressure skyrocket as the seconds tick by. _"The black sky is gone,"_ he bellows.

 

Several of the men's faces go white with the sudden sinking realization. _"Scour the camp,"_ Vladimir roars. _"Find it!"_

 

 

 

 

 

Matt is tentative about approaching Foggy and Karen but he keeps an ear out for them. Foggy is about ten yards away beside a nearby brook but Karen, he can't quite place which is most likely due to the seemingly constant shuffle of feet against the ground. He takes a long swig of water from the water skin jug to his right. He managed to snag it from one of Vladimir's lapdogs as they passed by- he was too busy to notice and Matt had become adept at picking pockets. It was an acquired skill that came from being alone for so long. Setting it back down by his side, Matt continues to listen.

 

It's early enough in the morning that a chill is still in the air, but not late enough for the sun to be sweltering. It's a pleasant weight on his back and he feels the urge to move somehow, to run. Matt sit cross legged near the outskirts of the camp. He would attempt to escape but there are those who watch. This had been the very same when he had lived with the Russians previously but it was somehow different.

 

There was more of a sense of unrest amongst the people, a vague, ominous- something looming overhead. Or possibly from _within._ People moved quicker and talked faster than usual. Matt had spent so long away that his Russian translations were rough at best, it took him longer to understand than it had used to causing some frustration. He couldn't pick up all of the words being spoken, but he could tell that something was amiss.

 

He was drawn out of his speculation when the overpowering scent of flowers tinged the air. Matt tilts his head up on reflex.

 

"Elektra," he greets civilly.

 

"Matthew," she returns in kind, drawing out his name in her foreign drawl. She sits down next to him, "Your smolder is showing, dear."

 

"I tend to do that," Matt acknowledges.

 

"You shouldn't lay your cards on the table. Leave some of your emotions a mystery," she continues, "It's rather dull wearing your heart where everyone can see it." Matt can hear her take a bite of an apple. He crinkles his nose slightly when the loud crunch reaches his ears, and then she speaks again with her mouth full, "It leaves the door open to manipulation."

 

"That sounds awfully like someone I used to know," he says after a pause.

 

"Wise fellow, what became of him?"

 

"Died," Matt answers easily.

 

"Pity. Did he have a name," Elektra asks as she takes another bite of her apple.

 

"His name was Stick," he says, shifting uncomfortably. He'd much rather not think of him.

 

Elektra seems to perk up at that and makes a delighted sound, "You know Stick?"

 

Matt sends her a skeptical look.

 

Uncomfortably well, Matt doesn't say. "Knew."

 

"And how did that insipid man finally get laid to rest?"

 

"My..." His voice falters. Matt clears his throat, "My husband killed him," he finishes this time.

 

"Oh," she says in a lieu of a breathy exhale. "The intrigue! and why did he do that, I wonder," Elektra says.

 

Matt takes the silent expression as the subtle query it is and answers her detachedly. It no longer bothers him as much as it used to. "He threatened to cut my throat so Vladimir slit his."

 

"Amongst other things," he mumbles to himself. Distantly, Matt can recall the brush of a jagged blade against his jugular but the sensation has happened so frequently that he has long lost all sensitivity to the sting.

 

Elektra twirls the core of an apple on the tip of her pointer finger, not bothering to pick it up when it thumps onto the sandy ground. She steals Matt's water jug from his side and takes a large gulp of water in the loudest way possible, almost as if daring Matt to say something. He doesn't.

 

They sit in companionable silence and Matt appreciates that. He continues to listen for any indication of just what is going on but can only pick out certain broken bits and pieces.

 

From the crowded sounds of hushed voices and sandaled feed, one shout rose above anything else and seemed to filled up any empty space in the thick air. Matt was so bewildered that he missed the first few words but managed to catch the tail end of his erratic yelling. It took him only a split second longer to realize that the person yelling was Vladimir.

 

Elektra places a hand on Matt's shoulder and uses it to hoist herself up, and Matt follows after her movement, standing up as Vladimir's voice travels gradually closer as he shoulders past his men.

 

 _"-A hand, you witch!"_ Matt manages to catch.

 

"Such a dramatic one, that husband of yours, isn't he?" Elektra intones humorously.

 

When Vladimir reaches them, his rage is practically palpable. Matt almost forgot how intense he became when enraged, almost as though a passionate fire was lit beneath him with righteous purpose but

 

Vladimir snatches Elektra's wrist from Matt's shoulder, holding it tightly enough that Matt can hear the bones creak in her hand like old floorboards. He makes a sound of protest as Vladimir's loud voice continues to saturate the surrounding air, drawing the attention of everyone in the crowded surrounding area.

 

 _"You will go back to your tent at once, hag,"_ he barks.

 

A slow smile spreads across Elektra's face, predatory and something that manages to convey both amusement and a subtle sentiment of _'back off.'_

 

 _"Oh really?_ " She coos in Russian.

 

She rips her arm away from his grasp as easily as swatting a pesky fly away and traces a finger up from Vladimir's leather holstered shoulder to the bottom of his chin, maneuvering her thumb to tightly grip his face and brings it down to her level. Vladimir does not say anything and neither does Elektra who was content to let her eyes to search his face for a tense moment.

 

Vladimir does not move, which is so very rare for the other man, who seemed as though he was always in motion. When he wasn't walking or adorning his horse, he was tapping his foot, moving his fingers. In his sleep, he used to be prone to wrapping his limbs around Matt like some sort of sea creature he used to read about in his books when he was young.

 

Matt can hear Elektra let out a sharp exhale, what could be a laugh if only she raised her voice infinitesimally higher. A faint smell of smoke permeates the humid air but is washed away by the wind crossing the plains.

 

Elektra winks conspiratorially at Vladimir, scratching her nails across his bearded jawline as she releases her grip on his face. Vladimir glares at her, his jaw clenched but he doesn't make a move to follow after her as she walks away.

 

After a pause, Matt raises an eyebrow, _"And- what was that?"_

 

 _"That,"_ Vladimir audibly swallows. _"Was the black sky,"_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song Salt by Thomston, and titles from both stories in this series come from the album Argonaut, if you want to check them out. My tumblr is [sansaasnark](http://sansaasnark@tumblr.com) come follow me and talk to me bc I crave notoriety and gain a sense of self from people following me on social media for some reason...


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